Soft Lips Are Open
by Day.By.Random.Day
Summary: This one-shot was inspired by a double-negativemeansyes piece.   And the lyrics are from Kings of Leon's "Sex on Fire"   Characters belong to BBC's Sherlock   Sherlock/John Johnlock


"John?"

"Jaaaaawn?"

Sherlock looked over his shoulder to see John's small figure passed out in his chair, his mouth hanging open ever slightly and a small whistle leaving his mouth every time he took a breath. Sherlock sighed, nothing to do now. He continued to watch John, the rise and fall of his chest, the way his eyes would constantly flutter. A dream. He was having a dream. Sherlock hoped it was a good one, not one of those nightmares that would wake John, screaming to the point that the sound could be heard downstairs in the kitchen where Sherlock would be experimenting with whatever creature he could find in the fridge.

Sherlock stared at John as he shifted slightly in his chair and his mouth hung open little more. Sherlock smirked, only John could look utterly adorable while looking like a complete doofus.

Standing up from his own seat on the couch Sherlock stretched and walked over to where John slumbered. Being careful not to wake him Sherlock gathered John in his arms, lifting all 180 lbs of him in one fell swoop. John's hands unconsiously snaked around Sherlocks neck and his face was pressed against Sherlock's chest, his hot breath causing Sherlock to shiver.

Sherlock paused by the stairs, considering on taking John to his own room, but decided against it for the well being of his back and instead opted for taking John into his own barely-used room. When he reached the bed, he slowly let John fall from his arms onto the crisp sheets, but to his dismay John's grip on his neck remained. Sherlock grabbed at his wrists and gently pried Johns hands apart laying them near his face in the position that Sherlock most often noticed John sleeping in during his occasional runs upstairs on nights where tools he needed for experiments weren't in the kitchen.

Sherlock stood up to walk away, but was halted when a small whimper escaped John's mouth. He turned quickly, but found that John was still asleep, a grimace on his face. Nightmares. If they continued John would only be tired and dull the next day, but he would be equally grumpy if Sherlock woke him up now. Sherlock frowned not knowing quite what to do. His finger quickly met at the tips and were pressed to his mouth in his usual habit as he racked his brain for a solution. He flipped through the pages of his his life until he reached a memory, far back into his early days as a child. He recalled not being able to fall asleep one evening with the threat of school the next day and the boy who threatened to "put a fist to his prissy face" looming. In his head he can hear just barely the melody which his mother murmered to him as she stroked his hair away from his forehead. It was the last thing he heard before he had been lured into a dreamless sleep.

Opening his eyes Sherlock glanced down at John who's face was now marked by tear tracks. With precise ease Sherlock leaned down over John, his arm resting above John's pillow and holding his weight as his face neared John's.

"shhhhhhh" he whispered. John stilled but didn't wake up.

Sherlock couldn't recall his mother's tune so instead he murmered the verses to a song he'd caught a clippit of while riding the tube earlier that day.

"Lay where you laying, don't make a sound

I know they watching, they watching

All the commotion, kiddie like play

Has people talking, talking"

He hummed the chorus

"Dark of the alley, breaking of day

The head while I'm driving, I'm driving

Soft lips are open, knuckles are pale

Feels like you're dying, you're dying"

As Sherlock sung John's tight face softened and the tears stopped. The fluttering of his eyelids decreased until almost still as John reached REM sleep and his mouth fell open again.

Sherlock continued to sing the final versus of the song

"Consumed with what will transpire

I'm consumed..."

Sherlock finished his song, still watching John as he slept and his eyes were drawn to the slight break of John's lips. They were moist from tears and the small breath that escaped from them warmed Sherlock's face. Without a thought, Sherlock leaned over and pressed his closed lips to John's parted one, immeadietly withdrawing with the fear that John might wake up. But he didn't, his breathing remained as steady as usual and his eyes still.

Sherlock stood and pulled the covers up around John's torso, his hand lightly tracing the outline of John's injured sholder as his other shut off the bedside lamp.

Then Sherlock took his leave, closing the door softly behind him


End file.
